It's Just a Hobby
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: "Get a hobby," Dean said. "You can't hang around here all the time, it's annoying." Now, Castiel has taken up cooking, Sam's acting weird, and Dean wishes he would have just kept his mouth shut. WARNING: Stuffing, weight gain, feeding, Wincestiel, feeder!Castiel, feedee!Dean, encourager!Sam.


**So, I took a break from my current active story ****_(Home is Where the Heart is,_**** which you may or may not be familiar with) to write this little (read: ridiculously-long) oneshot, because I know a lot of you, readers, come to me for the fetish erotica that I write. **

**If you're not here because you know exactly what this is, then, I warn you: There's stuffing (a term for eating until the stomach is swollen and, usually, very sensitive; it's actually very erotic), weight gain, feeding, Wincestiel (emphasis on 'Wincest'), feedee!Dean, feeder!Castiel, encourager!Sam, and I'm sure, lots and lots of OOCness (though I did my best).**

**If that's not your cup of tea, then get; you were warned.**

**If it is, then, hey, please review and tell me what you think!**

**(Also, hey, sorry about any inevitable spelling/grammar mistakes. This story came straight to FF.N from the notebook its rough draft was written in.)**

* * *

It started, without a doubt, in Arkansas. When Dean stepped out of the shower, dripping wet and completely naked, and saw Castiel perched on the closed lid of the toilet, reading the back of a canister of motel-grade air freshener.

"What the - oh, _Jesus!" _ Dean was able to see, with a single glance, that the towels were way too far away from him to grab one without making this infinitely more awkward than it already was. Making a split-second decision, he clapped both hands over the area between his legs. Wishing, for the very first time in his entire life, that was not quite so...well-endowed.

"I'm sorry, you're mistaken," Castiel said calmly, putting the air freshener back on the tank of the toilet. He stood up, facing Dean with his usual placid, impassive expression. "It's just me."

As usual, Dean couldn't tell if he was taking a stab at some dry humor, or if he was serious. Thankfully, that confusion didn't play too big a part in him hollering, "What the _hell, _Cas?! Get _out!" _

Castiel looked him up and down, a slight frown flickering across his face, and Dean had a sudden urge to spin around and jump back into the shower stall. So he could use the mildew-stained mauve curtain to cover himself. But it was a little late for that, and, besides. He didn't really feel like flashing his bare ass.

"Have I...made you uncomfortable in some way?" Castiel asked.

"Oh, hell, yes, you've made me uncomfortable! Out!" Dean raised a hand to stab a finger viciously towards the door, then immediately jerked it back down. He didn't want to leave himself even partially uncovered for so much as a second.

"I don't understand."

"I'm _naked!_ You'd better get your holy ass out of here _right now,_ or else I'm gonna - "

And, just like that, Castiel was gone, with a rushing sound like several rapid wingbeats and a breeze that made Dean, still wet enough to drip water on the floor, shiver. Muttering under his breath and calling the angel every single name he knew, plus a few he made up on the spot, he moved his hands away from his crotch and stalked across the bathroom to whip a threadbare mauve towel off the rack. Once he was dry, he yanked on the clean boxers he'd left on the counter before turning on the water, and stomped out into the room. Sam, sitting at the tiny table over by the door with his laptop, looked up as Dean unzipped his duffel.

"Conjugal visit?" he asked, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

"Dude, he's driving me crazy," Dean growled, stepping into a pair of jeans. "It's like he can't leave us alone for even five minutes."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Sam pushed his chair back a little, hooking one wrist over the back of it and engaging completely in the conversation. "He's been bugging me for the last three hours, trying to 'help.'" He put sarcastic emphasis on the last word. "I had to reboot my laptop because it crashed when he touched it. I don't even know what he did - I just blinked, and it was screwed all to hell." He frowned at his computer, and Dean felt a stab of sympathy.

"Y'know, when he first started hanging around like this, it was annoying," he commented, pulling on a black T-shirt and then shrugging into a flannel button-down. He snatched his amulet off the bedside table and slipped it over his head before he could forget it. "Now, though...I swear, if he shows up one more time, I'm gonna steal that sword of his out of his trench coat and ram it up his - "

Hearing a rushing noise behind him and feeling a breeze on his back, he immediately shut up and turned around, a weary expression settling onto his face. Castiel, holding a small stack of dusty, scarred books, regarded him with absolutely no shame whatsoever. Then he leaned around him, to address Sam.

"Sam," he said in his gravelly voice. Stepping around Dean, he held the books out like a sacred offering. "I was able to find the books you told me you needed."

Dean turned again, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at his brother.

"You're using him as an _errand boy?"_ he asked disbelievingly. "You're just encouraging him. You do realize that."

Sam threw up his hands in a "what-do-you-want me-to-do" gesture, but at least he looked sort of sheepish.

"He said he wanted to help," he said, a little defensively.

"I'm...finding it difficult to follow your conversation," Castiel admitted, stepping forward in order to set the books down next to Sam's laptop. Straightening up, he glanced from him to Dean, expression blank. "Have I missed something?"

"Uh. Yeah...I guess you could say that." Dean awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, finding it a little difficult to tell the...being...who was pretty much his best friend - after Sam, of course - that he wanted him gone. Even if it was just for a little bit. "Okay. Cas...listen."

"I am listening."

Dean glanced at Sam for help, but his younger brother just raised his eyebrows. Looking back at Castiel, he swallowed.

"Look," he started. "It's not that we don't like having you around. It's real nice to have you on board, all your tricks are useful, and you're great company. But..." He hesitated, shrugging and running a hand through his close-cropped, damp hair. The reminder of his recent shower made him grit his teeth and continue. "You can't just hang out with us all the time; it's starting to get annoying. Like, really, _really_ annoying."

"I've rebelled against Heaven, Dean, I have no tasks now other than protecting you and your brother - "

"Yeah, I know. We get it." He offered a tight smile. "But I am sick of turning around and seeing you about two inches from my face, and waking up in the middle of the night with you staring at me, and the thing in the bathroom was just the absolute last straw."

"We're not angry with you," Sam cut in. "We just...need some time to ourselves."

Castiel's expression didn't change, but he cocked his head to one side in a gesture of confusion, looking from Sam to Dean.

"I don't understand," he said. "I realize now that I've overstepped certain personal boundaries..." He looked at Dean, who crossed his arms over his chest and raised both eyebrows, barely managing not to say, _You think?_ "...and you want me to leave, and, in the future, to spend less time with you. But what would you have me do?"

"I don't know," Dean replied before Sam could, shrugging. "Get a hobby or something. Just...stop bugging us all the time. Because it's driving me completely nuts and I'm not sure I won't stab you or something the next time you pop up wen I'm naked."

"We still want you around on, say, a daily basis, though," Sam added. "And...thanks, by the way. For the books, I mean." He tapped the stack to punctuate his words.

"A hobby?" Castiel, ignoring, Sam after a quick glance, looked skeptical.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, relieved that he almost seemed to be getting it. "Y'know, like...woodworking. Or building model cars." Never having even had time for a hobby (outside of making sure the Impala was always running as smooth as possible), he really had to scrabble to come up with things that normal people did in their free time. "Or cooking. Whatever. Something like that."

"Cooking." He tipped his head back a little, looking like he was actually considering it.

"If that floats your boat. Sure. Go for it." Dean smiled brightly, the wide-eyed expression one he used when he was about at his breaking point. "Just so long as you do it _somewhere else."_

After a couple seconds of just staring broodingly at him, Castiel nodded gravely.

"All right," he said, voice as serious as if he had just been given instructions by God Himself. "I'll return when I've found something that suits me. To assure you that you will, from now on, have more 'time to yourselves.'" He adopted an expression that was almost regretful - or at least as regretful as Castiel, something mostly unused to having a face and being able to express emotions with it, could manage. "I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused you two over the course of my time with you."

And then he was gone, with another breeze that made Sam and Dean blink.

"Huh," Sam said, after a few seconds. "That went a whole lot better than I was expecting it to."

"Let's just hope he stays gone for a day or two," Dean muttered. "Pack your crap. I wanna hit the road in five minutes, tops." He paused for a moment, considering. "And I wanna eat a burger without an angel looking over my shoulder and telling me that the animals the meat came from were 'unclean.'"

Sam laughed, powering down his laptop and shutting the lid before slipping it into his backpack.

"We can do that."

"Animal_s, _Sam," Dean emphasized, not sure that he understood the implications of what he was saying. "Animal_s._ I really didn't need to know that."

"That's why I generally don't eat meat." Shooting him a smug smile, he slung his backpack onto his shoulder. "I'm breathing a sigh of relief, too. I just hope we weren't too harsh."

"Even if we'd actually been _trying _to hurt him, I don't think he woulda got it. We got nothing to worry about."

* * *

The first day that Castiel didn't show up once, Dean enjoyed himself. He could drive without being on edge and waiting for him to suddenly appear in the back seat with no warning at all. He ordered and ate exactly what he wanted in the diners they stopped at for meals, talking animatedly to Sam with a full mouth without Castiel staring expressionlessly at him the whole time. He was able to use the bathroom and not constantly glance over his shoulder to make sure he didn't have an angelic audience, he didn't have to worry about having to shield a suddenly-visible-with-no-explanation Castiel from civilian passersby when he was walking down a sidewalk, he could have an entire conversation with Sam without Castiel showing up and chiming in. When they reached the town that Sam, after much research, had decided held their next case (a run-of-the-mill poltergeist, by the looks of things), Dean slept better than he had in months. Because he wasn't keeping one eye open to make sure that Cas wasn't standing there and watching him sleep like that girl in _Paranormal Activity_.

The second day, he started to get just a little concerned. Castiel could be halfway around the world with a single flap of his invisible wings, could find his way into the innermost depths of anyplace that wasn't covered roof to foundation with Enochian scrawl, and had closely followed human development for thousands of years. Dean just couldn't believe that he was still looking for something to do.

"If you're worried, pray to him," Sam said, bracing his back against the wall and raising a booted foot to stop the coffee table that was barreling across the room towards him, seemingly under its own power. "That usually seems to work."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna...I don't know. Interrupt his quest for _purpose_ or whatever the hell it is he's doing." Dean ducked as a heavy porcelain lamp flew at his head, and winced as it shattered angrily on the wall behind him. "Damn, this thing's pissed."

"If he doesn't come back tomorrow, you're praying," Sam told him firmly, shoving the coffee table away from himself and making a beeline for the couch, the cushions of which were trembling angrily. "He was being annoying, I get it, and we both _really _needed some time without him, but you might have - here it is. Toss me the salt." He'd picked up one of the cushions (which had struggled valiantly in his large, callused hands) and flipped it over, revealing a faded brown stain. Almost certainly the blood of the girl who'd been murdered in this house, dodged her reaper, and gone poltergeist. Dean dug into the duffel bag of ghost-hunting gear that he was carrying, and whipped a canister of salt Sam's way. "Anyway. You might have made him think we want him gone permanently." With drifts of salt piled on it, the cushion went up on flames when Sam flicked his lighter next to it, and everything in the house rattled violently as a blood-curdling shriek made both of them wince and clap their hands over their ears.

"Well...I didn't mean to," Dean said defensively, once the noise had subsided and everything had settled back down.

"I know. But we can't afford to have him take off on us. I mean, he's pretty useful...and, well, you don't have a lot of friends."

Dean was sure that, if he looked at Sam, he'd see pity. Which he resented, because they were pretty much in the same boat, friend-wise. But he didn't look at him, just muttered something even he couldn't make out and headed for the door.

On the third day, Dean gave up and prayed to Castiel. Every five minutes. He was worried, really, honestly worried, and he could tell that Sam was, too, by the way that he didn't insist they leave now that the case was over and done with, and looked at him sideways with those big hazel eyes of his full of concern, and spent most of his time searching international news sites for any events that looked like they might have involved their angel. He didn't show up, and they didn't find any clue as to where he might be.

At around six o'clock, Dean was sitting at the foot of his bed, jiggling his leg up and down while he watched TV but didn't really see it. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and glanced up to see Sam standing over him, looking concerned.

"We need to stock up," he said quietly. "Beer, cereal, instant coffee...I'm going to that supermarket down the street. Do you want to come with me?"

"No. Nah." He shook his head, leaning forward to switch off the TV. "I'll stay here."

"Well...can I get you anything?"

"Thanks, Sammy, but I'm good." Dean gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let's ship out tomorrow. I mean, Cas has never had any trouble finding us before, so it's pretty pointless to just stay in one spot."

Sam hesitated before leaving. "Y'know, it's only been a couple days."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. "Why d'you think I haven't hunted down the nearest dick with wings and made him tell me what they've done with Cas?"

Sam left without saying anything else, and Dean sighed deeply. He just wasn't sure what to do, or what to think. Obviously, he missed Castiel, his help with hunts and his stoic, unflappable company. And he felt guilty, because it was his own damn fault that he was AWOL. But, somehow, he'd missed this...this time with just him and Sam. They were _partners, _they worked perfectly together and all but thought in sync. If he didn't know Cas, and how much trouble he tended to be in when he went missing like this, Sam would've been more than enough for him.

But he _did _know Cas, and he wanted him to come back. So he'd know he was okay.

The second he thought that, there was a feathery rushing sound, and a breeze that smelled, weirdly-enough, like pastries washed over his right side. He turned to face the source of it, leaping to his feet, and scowled when he saw Castiel standing by the small, square table in their room. He looked exactly the same as he always did - trench coat over a rumpled business suit, a day or two of scruff on his jaw, black hair messy in a way that was, somehow, sorta artful. Dean had always wondered if Castiel looked unkempt because he spent all his time fighting, working holy magic, and teleporting, or if he just couldn't be bothered to take care of his vessel. But he didn't really care about that right now.

"Where the hell've you been?" Dean demanded, spreading his hands in a "what-the-hell" gesture. "I told you to get a hobby, not go on a freaking walkabout."

"I learned how to cook," Castiel said by way of an explanation, apparently not picking up on Dean's anger. It was only then that he noticed what he was holding.

"Is that a..." Dean had been mad. Furious, even, at Castiel, for practically making him and Sam sick with worry. But, slowly, that drained away. "...Cas, why do you have a pie?"

"I made it." Castiel looked down at the pie in his hands, which was steaming slightly in the overly-air-conditioned motel room. Dean could smell the crust, and something fruity, sweet, that must have been the filling. Blueberries, maybe. "Actually, I made a multitude, because it's so simple, and I know you like this sort of thing." He glanced back up at Dean, looking about as pleased with himself as he possibly could without smiling. "Is this hobby to your liking?"

"Well...yeah, I guess." Dean couldn't see anything wrong with it, but...an angel, making pies. It just struck him as kinda weird, and a sudden mental image of Castiel in an apron and chef's hat made one corner of his mouth quirk up in a crooked smile. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket as Castiel set the pie down on the table, and, somehow, conjured up a plate, knife, and fork without a single movement.

"This is a gift," he stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to the pie. "To attempt to make up for my behavior of the past few months...which, I realize now, may have been overbearing and irritating."

"Cas, don't beat yourself up over it - it's okay," Dean told him, walking over to close the distance between them. "Believe me when I say I've dealt with a whole lot worse than you, uh, not respecting my personal space." He stopped, looking over the pastry on the table. It looked about as good as it smelled, the crust an even golden color and a rich purple visible through the slits cut into it. "Wow, that smells good." Glancing up and giving Castiel an easy grin, he asked, "It's okay to eat, right? I mean, no..." He considered. "...copious amounts of salt, or holy oil?"

Castiel looked a little offended as he said, "Of course not."

"Sam's down at the store, getting the essentials," Dean told him, changing the subject as he pulled out a chair and sat. "He'll be happy to see you...man, Cas, I can't believe you _made _this."

"I'm only sorry it took me so long to find a pastime," Castiel replied, as Dean - more or less satisfied that eating his baking wasn't going to kill him, and reluctant to let such a nice-looking pie go to waste - cut himself a slice and maneuvered it onto the plate that had been provided. Very briefly, he wondered just where it'd come from.

"You could've told us you were safe," Dean pointed out, picking up the fork. He twirled it between his fingers for just a second, regarding Castiel. "We had no idea what'd happened to you." He scooped up a forkful of pie - yeah, it was blueberry - as the angel pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, blue eyes fixed on him. He had a habit of staring at him while he ate. And while he slept. And basically just staring in general - he never seemed to know where to point his eyes when he wasn't using them to look at something in particular.

"I wasn't sure how welcome my presence would be," Castiel replied.

Dean chewed, not really paying attention to him right now. His attention was pretty much taken up completely with the pie.

"Oh, man," he muttered through a full mouth, swallowing and then immediately digging his fork into the slice again. "Cas, this is amazing." He shoveled more into his mouth, closing his eyes briefly in pleasure. "I forgive you for everything. Hell, if you keep making stuff like this, you can watch me shower anytime." Pausing to chew, he considered what he'd just said for a second. "Actually, no, you can't. Sorry, but no pie is that good."

"I'm glad you like it." For just a second, Castiel almost smiled. "As I mentioned, there are many, many more."

"Marry me." Dean ignored Cas's immediate (and, hilariously enough, completely serious) objection to that, and just focused on eating. The crust was perfectly flaky, and the filling hit just the right note between sweet and sour. He was already full, having made a burger run about an hour ago while Sam stayed glued to the screen of his laptop, but he didn't really care. He was halfway through a second slice before he noticed that he was getting uncomfortably full, his belly heavy and his clothes starting to get tight around his middle. He paused, pressing the back of his free hand to his mouth as he burped, and considered stopping before he made himself sick. But he figured he should at least finish the slice he was on.

"So you've forgiven whatever trespasses I made," Castiel stated tentatively, as soon as he'd gotten over the marriage thing.

"Yeah." Dean dropped the fork onto the empty plate, unable to hold back a tiny grunt of discomfort as he leaned back in his chair. "Seriously, don't worry about it. We're good."

"I'm glad we're...good." The expression just sounded weird, coming from Castiel, and the super-serious look on his face didn't help. "Are you finished?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely." Dean burped again, and wondered if he'd actually overdone it. "I'm stuffed."

A second later, he wondered if Castiel even understood the concept of being full. When they'd been on Famine's tail, he'd been gorging himself on burgers near-constantly, and it hadn't ever seemed to have an effect on him. But the angel nodded, and reached for the pie (of which there was still about three quarters left) with a calm, "I'll dispose of this, then."

"What? No way." Dean sat up straight. "You can't throw away anything that tastes as good as that does. It's practically blasphemy." Seeing the look that Castiel gave him, he rolled his eyes and muttered, "Sorry. But, seriously, don't get rid of it."

"You have no place to put it," Castiel pointed out. "I can make more, Dean...there are already more."

"Just...c'mon, give it here," Dean said, sighing. He picked up the fork again, maneuvered a fourth slice onto his plate with a slight grimace, and was extremely aware that Castiel was watching him with a faint frown.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked. "I'm...not exactly familiar with the human digestive tract, but - "

"It's not like I'm gonna eat the whole thing," Dean replied. He stood at just over six feet tall, and he was a pretty big guy compared to everyone but Sam, but he knew he couldn't manage eating an entire pie on top of the two bacon cheeseburgers he'd eaten for dinner. Maybe another slice or two, if he was lucky. He dug his fork into this third piece, and knew he'd made the right choice when he stuffed a forkful into his mouth, despite the uncomfortable pressure in his stomach. "Just a little more."

Castiel folded his hands on the table in front of him, watching Dean eat with a characteristically unreadable expression. Dean ignored him, focusing on just how good the pie tasted. Good enough for him to cut a fourth slice after he was done with the third, even though his belly was actually starting to hurt after he was done with the third, even though his belly was actually starting to hurt after he popped the last bite in his mouth. It wasn't that bad (he'd had a new perspective on stomach pain ever since he was seventeen and a werewolf caught him across his middle with a powerful swipe of its inch-long, razor-sharp claws), and he didn't really care until he'd swallowed the very last mouthful of his latest piece. He had a full-blown stomachache now, the pain forcing a pathetic sound that was almost a whimper out of him, and he was immediately pissed at himself for acting so helpless in front of Cas. Planting his boots on the floor and pushing his chair away from the table, Dean put a hand on his belly and gritted his teeth, glancing don at himself. His stomach was swollen, the bulge of it pretty obvious against his T-shirt and jeans, and, God, it _hurt. _He wasn't sure he'd ever been so full.

Castiel's chair scraped against the floor as he stood up, leaning over the table to get a look at Dean. His expression was highly interested as he murmured, "Fascinating."

"Uh, no, not really..." Regretting that last slice of pie more than anything else he'd ever done (up to and including selling his soul), Dean pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a burp that didn't bring him any relief. "Damn it." Shifting a little, he winced. "Shoulda listened to you, Cas."

"Do you think you could eat more without seriously injuring yourself?" Castiel asked, walking around the table. Dean exhaled loudly, tipping his head back.

"Well, yeah, I probably _could, _but that doesn't mean I - " Cas waved two of his fingers, and Dean's mouth was suddenly full of pie. "Mmph!" As fast as he could, he chewed and swallowed, spitting it out not even crossing his mind. As soon as he could talk, he glared up at Castiel, who was now standing over him. "What the _hell, _Cas? I'm done. I'm so full it hurts. Stop trying to feed me more."

"Just this slice. Please." Castiel nodded to the table, and Dean looked, seeing a fifth piece of pie sitting on the plate with a sizeable chunk (probably what had just been in his mouth) already missing from it. "I'm curious."

"About what?" Dean asked sarcastically. Despite his tone, he scooted back in, pushed a forkful of flaky crust and blueberry filling into his mouth without even thinking about it. "How much I can hold before exploding?"

"No...not exactly." Castiel studied him. "I don't believe you'll burst. From what I've seen, human organs and skin are incredibly elastic."

"Thanks, that makes me feel a whole lot better." Dean swallowed, wincing just a little as more food was forced into his protesting stomach. He pulled the plate a little closer, so it'd be easier for him to eat. "Damn it, Cas, this is just way too good."

Castiel stood over him, impassive, until he finished. When he did, he couldn't keep himself from making a pained little whining noise in the back of his throat. His jeans were cutting into him, unbearably tight, and his shirt was starting to ride up. A narrow strip of pale, stretched skin was visible between the waistband of his jeans and the hem of his shirt, which he saw when he leaned back and looked at himself, scowling. He had to breathe a little shallowly, or else it would hurt too bad. Moving even the tiniest bit made him grunt in pain, as everything shifted inside him.

"Sam's never gonna let me hear the end of this," he muttered. Glancing at the door, he wondered when his little brother was going to get back, and suppressed a groan as he thought about what he'd say when he saw him like this. Sam already mocked his eating habits on a daily basis.

"Are you in pain?" asked Castiel. Dean looked up at him, incredulous.

"Yeah," he said, enunciating carefully. "Yeah, I am, a _lot _of - "

Castiel reached down, and gently touched the fingertips of one hand to that strip of bare skin, drawing back immediately. Dean trailed off. All the pain was gone. He still felt pretty full, and he still looked like he was a few months pregnant, but he didn't hurt anymore. His first thought was that, now, he could completely finish Castiel's amazing pie.

"If you can do that," he said, impressed despite himself, "then, by all means, feed me as much as you want."

Castiel lifted his fingers, and pie filled Dean's mouth.

He let him do that for about a slice, but, by then, he was starting to get a little weirded out by it. Telling Cas that he'd really prefer to just use a fork now, he leaned forward, feeling his stomach brush slightly against his thighs and the waistband of his jeans dig into him hard enough to cut through whatever angelic spell was getting rid of his pain. Sighing, he reached down, unbuttoning and unzipping. The taut, warm shape of his belly pressed against his hands as he gave it more room, and a sudden pulse of..._arousal _shot through him. He raised an eyebrow, not really sure what was turning him on. The pie was good, but it wasn't _that _good.

Dean ate, giving up on the plate and cutting slices, and just eating what was left out of the aluminum tin. He felt his eyes flutter closed, and couldn't stop himself from making little sounds of pleasure, simply because it tasted so amazing...and, for whatever reason, he was horny. But he hoped to God that Castiel couldn't tell and just thought that he was _really _enjoying his baking. And that he didn't suddenly pop in when he inevitably took care of this problem later, because...well. That'd be awkward.

He scraped one last blob of blueberry filling out of the tin with his fork, stuffed it into his mouth, and leaned back with a contented sigh as he swallowed. "Cas, you are amazing. That was probably the absolute best thing I've ever eaten." He'd pulled his shirt up in an effort to be just a little more comfortable, and his stomach was totally exposed, rounded and big enough to force him to pant for air. He was pretty glad that he couldn't feel anything that wasn't straight-up fullness, because his skin looked a little red around his belly button. Laying one hand on himself, he looked up at Castiel and smirked. "This better not ruin my figure, or you're in trouble."

"Well, considering the amount of calories you've consumed and your metabolic rate..." Castiel began, but stopped when Dean shook his head.

"I don't care. That was totally worth getting fat." He tipped his head back, and groaned. "And I ate the whole thing. That just hit me."

He closed his eyes, stretching out and spreading his legs, but they flew open again a minute later when he felt the warm weight of a hand on his bare belly. Raising his head, he saw Castiel with a hand laid on him, head cocked in a birdlike gesture as he examined Dean's bloated stomach with piercing blue eyes. He squeezed, just a little, and Dean burped.

"Uh...what are you doing?" he asked.

"You could eat more," Castiel said, by way of response.

Dean didn't really like the way he said that. Or the way his touch felt. Shifting a little under Castiel's hand, he said, "Maybe, but...I'm good. I don't want any more."

"All right." Cas withdrew his hand. "You seem to enjoy my cooking. I'll return in the morning, with more for you to sample." He vanished with a slight _whoosh, _as did the empty pie tin, the plate, and the fork. And the spell keeping Dean from feeling any of the pain of his overstuffed stomach. He snarled at the sudden agony, clutching his belly with both hands and making that pathetic whining sound again. He ached with fullness, felt a whole lot heavier than he liked.

"Feathery bastard," he muttered from between gritted teeth, hauling himself to his feet with a whimper of pain. Standing was way tougher than it should have been. And walking was even worse, as he found out when he shuffled over to his bed, cradling his gut the whole time. Kicking off his boots, Dean laid down on his side, curling up around his belly in a fetal position. He whimpered again, because, damn it, it _hurt, _and there was no one around to hear him being so pathetic.

At least, not for about five minutes. After those were up, Sam nudged the door open and came into the room. Dean, with his back to him, heard his footsteps and the rustle of paper as he set bags full of whatever groceries he had gotten down. He kinda wondered what'd taken him so long, but, mostly, he didn't care. He just hoped that Sam wouldn't get close enough to see what he'd done to himself, because he could just imagine the reaction.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded a little puzzled. "Are you...sleeping?"

"No," Dean grunted, curling up tighter and throwing both arms over his stomach. "Go 'way, Sam."

"Are you okay?" And now he was concerned. Great. "This isn't about Cas, is it? You sound kind of - "

"Yeah, I'm awesome. Leave me alone."

"But why are you..." Sam moved closer, and his voice trailed off. There was a very long, very awkward silence, during which Dean clenched his jaw, and then Sam said, "Oh, God, Dean."

His voice, for some reason, sounded huskier all of a sudden, but Dean couldn't care less as he muttered. "Shut up."

"What...uh...what _happened _to you? Stress-eating? I know you're worried about Cas, but this isn't a healthy way to deal with it." He felt the mattress shift as Sam sat down on the bed, behind him.

"I'm not worried about Cas anymore, he showed up. You just missed him." He paused. "He brought a pie."

Silence. Then, Sam laughed, and said, "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. Did you eat the whole thing?"

"'S not my fault, and it's not funny," Dean snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at the wall in front of him because it would be too much effort for him to roll over and face Sam. "He encouraged me...and, believe me, I am regretting each and every bite I took right now."

"It looks like it hurts," Sam said thoughtfully. Dean groaned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, give the boy a prize."

"Y'know, even for you, this is pretty impressive," Sam pointed out. He poked Dean's belly, getting a growl of "Watch it," out of him. "I didn't even know you could fit so much in there."

"Yeah. It's a miracle." He stifled a burp. "Seriously...my stomach's killing me. D'you think you could get me, I don't know, some Alka-Seltzer? Or something?"

"I'm not going back to the store," Sam said firmly.

"C'mom, Sammy, please - "

"Shh." Sam moved closer, and Dean prepared himself to be poked again. Or pinched. But, instead, he felt Sam's fingertips on the exposed side of his stomach. When his little brother spoke again, he sounded hesitant. "I think...I can make you feel better."

Dean was about to ask just how he was gonna do that, but then he started to rub gently, making wide circles with his hand. Dean's words died in his throat, and his eyes fluttered closed as Sam massaged his belly. It felt good. No, it felt more than good, it felt awesome - and it got rid of the pain, too. He tired not to think about the fact that it was his little brother with his hand on his bare skin, seeing him so completely helpless. Especially because, now that he wasn't hurting anymore, his arousal had come flooding back.

"Belly rubs, huh?" he asked, doing his absolute best to resist the urge to stretch luxuriously and groan with pleasure.

"Uh...yeah." Sam seemed embarrassed. "Is it helping?"

"Definitely." Dean sighed happily. "Feels amazing." He opened his eyes, and raised his head a little. "How'd you learn to do this?"

"It's, um, kind of a long story...roll onto your back, it'll work better that way."

He did as he was told without a second thought, rolling over, and biting his lip when it hurt. But he had to admit that Sam had been right - it did indeed work better this way. A lot better. Sam could reach all of him this way, gently moving one hand across his stomach, making him dig his fingertips into the bedspread in an effort not to moan. It was like a massage and a handjob rolled into one - which, he realized, should make him want to tell Sam to stop. But, for some reason, he didn't.

"Y'know, Dean, you really shouldn't eat like this," Sam said quietly. "It's not healthy."

"I'd like to see you not end up like this after tasting that pie," Dean replied, panting. "Oh, Jesus, that feels good."

Sam was quiet for a long time, but he kept rubbing. Which was basically all Dean cared about right now.

"You might be enjoying this just a little too much."

"Sorry." They were brothers. And he was just touching his belly - this shouldn't be turning him on like it was. But he couldn't help it.

"Just...try to go to sleep." Sam shifted his position, and the mattress creaked. "Sleep it off. If Cas is back, that means we can leave town tomorrow. _Early _tomorrow," he added, special emphasis on "early."

"Uh-huh," Dean agreed drowsily, having already decided on the sleep thing. The way that Sam was moving his hand was more soothing now than stimulating. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Dean woke up in bed with Sam.

Well, they weren't strictly _in bed _with each other. They were both still on top of the covers, and both still had yesterday's clothes on. Sam, sprawled on his back and dead to the world with his long hair making a halo around his head, even still had his boots on. Dean was curled up on his side on the opposite side of the bed, and he took comfort from the fact that they weren't actually touching. Except for Sam's hand, which was resting on his hip. Like it'd been on his stomach until he rolled over.

So...they weren't really _in bed _together. Nevertheless, Dean didn't like it.

He grabbed Sam's wrist, moved his hand off himself, and dropped it to the bed with a muffled thump. He sat up and swung his legs off the mattress, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He rubbed a hand up through his short hair. He was hungry, and that reminded him. He lifted up his shirt, looking at his stomach. It was flat again, but...was he looking a little softer around the abs?

Maybe he was just paranoid. He dropped his shirt and stood up.

He showered, put new clothes on, packed up all the weapons and articles of clothing laying around the room. By the time he was ready, Sam was still asleep. Duffel bag slung over one shoulder, he walked over and grabbed his ankle, shaking him awake.

"Sammy. C'mon, up and at 'em. We gotta hit the road."

Sam clapped a hand over his closed eyes and grimaced, arching his back to stretch. "Oh, God...what time is it?"

"Uh." Dean glanced at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table. "Ten 'til seven."

"...I fell asleep at six-thirty..."

"You were up the whole night? Seriously?" Dean frowned, hitching the strap of his bag a little higher on his shoulder. "Sam, what the hell were you doing?"

"Research." He could tell he was lying, by the way he looked away and said the word really fast. But he decided not to push him. Pushing Sam to tell him what was bugging him always seemed to blow up in his face.

"Well, gee, I hope you learned a lot," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Let's go. You can't sleep in the car."

"Ugh." Sam sat up, unbearably slow, keeping his hand over his eyes. As Dean watched, unmoved, he lowered his fingers and peeked at him, squinting. "No breakfast?"

"Cas said he'd bring breakfast," he replied, turning towards the door and motioning for Sam to follow him.

"He did?" Sam rocked himself onto his feet, and stumbled after his older brother. "Like...for both of us?"

"I don't know." Dean led the way into the parking lot and towards the Impala, thinking about what exactly Castiel had said last night. "Maybe just for me...but don't worry, I'll share." He shot a grin over his shoulder. Sam had an expression on his face that he didn't really recognize, but that he chalked up to him being so tired.

Sam was asleep the second his head hit the backpack he was using as a pillow in the backseat, and Dean glanced back at him every once in awhile. Just to make sure he was still doing okay. His long legs were tucked up next to his chest, because there wasn't actually room for him to stretch out. It didn't look comfortable, but, hey, at least he was sleeping.

After checking on him for about the tenth time, Dean turned his attention back to the road. Right as a sudden breeze ruffled the loos fabric of his jacket and Castiel appeared in the passenger seat, a plate of about a dozen muffins on his lap. Dean was used enough to him popping up out of nowhere that the car only swerved a little.

"What, no pie?" he asked, the scent of the muffins making his stomach growl. Chocolate. He didn't even _like _chocolate muffins, but he had a feeling he'd like these.

"I brought breakfast food would be more appropriate," Castiel replied, glancing down at the muffins. Looking back up, he added, "When you finish these, there are eggs, and bacon."

"When I finish - ?" Dean blinked, feeling more than a little incredulous. "Cas, there's no way you're getting me to eat all of those." He took one hand off the wheels to gesture to the muffins. "Let alone more after 'em...it won't fit." He self-consciously clapped a hand to his belly, remembering how, last night, he'd thought the pie wouldn't fit.

Apparently, Castiel remembered the same thing, because he started, "Last night - "

"I can't eat like that all the time," Dean interrupted, shaking his head. "Sam told me it wasn't healthy, and I'm pretty sure he's right. Speaking of Sam..." He nodded to the backseat. "Wake him up. He wanted breakfast."

"I'd rather let him sleep." Castiel picked up a muffin, examining it with an intensely-focused expression on his face before offering it to Dean, who, reluctantly, accepted it. He figured one or two couldn't hurt, and he was hungry. "He's exhausted and confused. It would be best for him to rest."

"Confused?" Dean asked, taking a bite of the muffin and immediately realizing that "one or two" just wasn't going to be enough. It was warm, moist, the chocolate chips inside melted into little pockets of sweet goo. Of course, it wasn't as good as the pie, but, well...that'd been pie. Mouth full, he asked, "What's he confused about?"

"I don't believe he would welcome my telling you," Castiel replied. Changing the subject, he nodded to the muffin in Dean's hand, which was already half-gone. "Is that to your liking?

"Oh, yeah, totally." He took another bite, hooking his thumbnail underneath the wax paper wrapper and peeling it down. "I swear, Cas, you have a gift...if the whole 'rebel angel' thing doesn't work out for you, I think you have a real future on the Food Network."

Castiel cocked his head to the side in that way that meant he had absolutely no idea what Dean was talking about, and he gave up. Stuffing the rest of the muffin into his mouth, and very carefully, dropping the wrapper onto the center console of the Impala before grabbing another one. If Cas didn't magick it all away when he was done, he didn't want to the car to end up covered in trash.

Seven muffins in, he was full enough to be uncomfortable, the waistband of his jeans tighter than it should be and his belly a slight bulge between his hips. He didn't want any more, on a purely logical level of his brain that knew he was full and that it would be a bad idea to end up like he had last night. But he took muffin number eight when Castiel offered it, because they just tasted so good, and, despite the fact that these were pretty big muffins, one more couldn't make much of a difference...right?

"One more" turned into two, then three, then four, and, finally, Dean dropped the wrapper of the last one onto the small pile that had formed on the center console. Swallowing the final mouthful, he closed his eyes briefly, wondering why the hell he'd let this happen again. He tried to focus on driving instead of the dull ache in his stomach and how tight his jeans were. And the fact that he was, inexplicably, turned on again.

"Are you ready for more?" Castiel asked, touching his fingertips to the pile of wrappers and sending them off to God-knew-where. Dean muttered something derogatory under his breath before answering.

"No, I'm not." He tried not to snap, but it was hard. "Look, Cas. Can't you tell I'm full?" He turned as much as he could in his seat to display himself, taking one hand off the wheel to cradle the side of his swollen belly. The angel looked unimpressed. "More than full, actually...a dozen muffins." He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm not throwing up."

"Would it help if I blocked your pain again?" Castiel asked.

"No. No, it wouldn't. I just don't want any more to eat - " But Castiel had vanished before he even finished his sentence. Dean exhaled explosively, keeping one hand on the wheel and reaching down to, absentmindedly, rub his stomach. Without even realizing it, he was trying to replicate what Sam had done last night. A desperate little whine worked its way out of him as the pain didn't get better. Sam stirred in the backseat, but, thankfully, he hadn't woken him up.

That was when Castiel came back, a huge plate of what looked and smelled like the absolute best scrambled eggs Dean had ever come across resting on his lap. Before he could protest, Cas laid a hand on his belly, working a spell even through the fabric of his T-shirt. He didn't mind that the pain was fading. What he minded was that he was almost certainly expected to eat more.

"Cas, c'mon," he complained. But he couldn't help noticing how good those eggs smelled.

"I'm only asking you to try it," Castiel replied. "Besides. You haven't reached your limits yet - you could eat more, if you want to."

"Well, I don - " Dean's mouth was full before he even saw Castiel's fingers twitch. Cheeks bulging, he chewed and swallowed, gasping a little when he could. Partly because he needed air, and partly because, well, it tasted fantastic. Just like everything else Castiel had brought him so far. "Oh, _wow."_ He glanced over at the angel, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle a burp. "Yeah, okay. Fine. I gotta have more of that." He looked at the road ahead, which was pretty much deserted. "Just let me pull off so I can eat."

"You can keep driving," Castiel said. "I'd be more than willing to help."

Before Dean could reply, his mouth was full of eggs again. He tasted butter, salt, cheese, in addition to the yolk-y flavor - and it was perfectly cooked all over, fluffy and firm. He swallowed, barely noticing how full he was now that it didn't hurt to eat more.

"Okay, uh...don't do that," he said once his mouth was empty, shaking his head. "It's just too weird."

Castiel popped out of visibility and then returned less than a second later, with a fork. Very, very reluctantly, Dean agreed that that was better. But not much. He still wasn't very comfortable with the idea of being fed by his best friend...but, hey, it worked. It meant he didn't have to stop, which was good, because he wanted to reach their destination by nightfall.

"God, I hope Sam doesn't wake up and see this," he muttered, turning his head and opening his mouth to accept a forkful of eggs from Castiel. The angel just shrugged, and they didn't really talk after that, until Dean, done with the eggs, unbuttoned his jeans with a groan. It didn't hurt, obviously, but...he was huge. The irregular globe of his stomach actually rested on his thighs, just a little, with his shirt riding up and his jeans way too small for him to leave them zipped. He was driving, so he couldn't get as good of a look at himself as he wanted, and maybe that was a good thing. He didn't regret eating so much, but he didn't like what it'd done to him. No matter how temporary it was. "Damn it, Cas, you're gonna be the death of me." He glared at him, but there wasn't any real anger behind it. "Were you 'curious' again?"

"Not particularly." Castiel examined Dean's middle with a sort of morbid fascination. "I confirmed all my suspicions last night." Before Dean could demand to know just what that meant, he continued. "Is the spell holding?"

"Yeah." He glanced down at himself.

"Do you want more, then?"

He heaved out a massive sigh, rubbing a hand over the expanse of his belly. "Oh, man, I am gonna regret this later...yeah. I do. I want more."

By the time a gas station game up and the Impala's fuel gauge was low enough to warrant turning into it, Castiel was gone and Dean was miserable. He was packed so full of breakfast food that he didn't even want to try standing up. Parked at one of the pumps with no other cars in sight, he leaned back, spread his legs, and looked over his belly - which was absolutely killing him. He wasn't surprised. He hadn't even known he was physically capable of this - it looked like he'd swallowed a soccer ball completely whole. He couldn't hold back a whimper of pain and just a little bit of self-loathing, for doing this to himself. Again.

And he was rock-hard. Again. What the hell was turning him on?

"Sam," he said, looking into the backseat, where Sam was still out cold. "Sammy. Hey, Sam, wake up...wake up!"

Sam said something along the lines of "Grnf," when Dean raised his voice, and sat up, blinking slowly. There were still dark circles under his eyes and his hair was all messed up, but he looked better than he had that morning. Raking a few strands of dark hair out from in front of his sleep-fuzzed hazel eyes, he yawned widely before offering a tired, "What's up?"

"I need you to get out and gas up the Impala," Dean told him. Sam blinked.

"Uh...why can't you do it?"

Dean hesitated. "I'm not real sure I can walk right now...and I definitely can't bend over to get the nozzle in."

_That _woke Sam up, for whatever reason. His half-lidded eyes flew open, and he moved into a crouch, leaning over the front seat to get a look at his older brother. Self-conscious, Dean put his hands on his stomach, but it really didn't do much to cover him.

"So...Cas brought breakfast, huh?" Sam said, grinning.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean muttered, massaging his brow with one hand. "It was way too good to turn down."

"So, you...gorged yourself. Again." He was looking down at his belly like he was hypnotized by it. "And now you can't move."

"It's more Cas's fault than it is mine." Dean burped, then panted shallowly, gritting his teeth as the ache got worse.

"How is it his fault? It's not like he force-fed you - " Sam started.

"Actually...uh. He...sorta did." Dean grimaced.

There was a beat of silence. Then an incredulous, "What?"

"Well, there wasn't any _forcing, _but...he fed me. Hand-fed me. Until there wasn't anything left." Dean squirmed in his seat, embarrassed. "It was - it was pretty weird."

Sam's face was about as incredulous as his voice had been, when Dean looked up at him. And there was something else in his expression, something he couldn't identify. Slowly, he asked, "He _fed _you?"

"Yes!" Dean threw his hands up. "Were you even listening to me?"

"No, I was - " He took a deep breath. "I was listening." Breaking eye contact, he reached down and poked him in the stomach. Dean winced. "Y'know, I actually think you're bigger today than you were last night."

Dean glared at him, snapping, "You're not helping."

"All right, all right...uh, when I'm done getting the gas, d'you want me to..." He trailed off, and made a kneading motion with his hand. Dean nodded rapidly.

"Yes. Definitely. You have no idea how good a belly rub sounds right now."

"If you keep eating like this, you're gonna get fat," Sam pointed out ten minutes later, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him. Dean, hands on the wheel, rolled his eyes.

"I've eaten basically like this for thirty-one years and that's never happened," he muttered.

"Yeah, but never so...much." Sam put a hand on his stomach, then dug his fingertips in. Dean yelped and squirmed away from his touch as best he could.

"Ow!" He shot a glare at him. "Jesus, Sam, I'm _sensitive _there - what the hell were you doing?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he murmured, rubbing soothingly. "Is that better?"

"Yeah," Dean said, settling back with a sigh and starting the car. "Keep doing that."

"Wow. You are _really _full, aren't you?" Sam commented, his tone almost...affectionate, as Dean guided the car out of the parking lot of the gas station. His hand moved steadily, amazingly warm against Dean's bare skin as he massaged away the pain, and he could feel every callus on his palm and fingers as he made wide circles around his belly button.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

By lunchtime, Dean was still full enough for his belly to hurt if Sam wasn't rubbing it. That didn't stop Castiel from showing up in the back seat with - unbelievably enough - homemade pizza. Dean protested, of course, but every second he spent in a confined space with the heavenly (pun completely intended) scent of that pizza made it harder and harder. Not the mention the fact that Sam, after exchanging greetings with Castiel and congratulating him on his new hobby, actually seemed to be encouraging him to eat. He couldn't understand it, especially after he'd called it unhealthy and told him what would happen if he didn't stop doing this. When he asked what'd gotten into him, Sam just shrugged and said he should eat if he wanted to. Besides, he'd burn off whatever extra weigh t he picked up from this, hunting. That was good enough for Dean to agree to a couple of slices. Which, of course, wasn't actually what he limited himself to. Not with Castiel and Sam coaxing more and more into him. He ended up dozing in the passenger seat, legs spread and shirt pulled up to accommodate his stomach, while Sam drove with one hand. Leaving the other free to knead and massage so Dean could sleep comfortably.

At about four in the afternoon, Dean spoke, leaned back in his seat and with one forearm thrown over his eyes. "I'm starting to think you guys are trying to kill me or something."

Sam laughed a little, his hand resting almost...possessively on Dean's belly, the sound short and disbelieving. With his eyes closed, Dean couldn't see him, but he could tell he was smiling wryly as he asked, "Why on Earth would you think that?"

"Well, all this food, and you and Cas ganging up on me - "

"Ganging up on you?" he repeated skeptically. "I know it's kinda your job to follow conspiracy theories, but...this is a little ridiculous." He paused for a second, then added, "By the way, Castiel said he was bringing dinner around seven, so try to go back to sleep. Digest a little."

"See? There. Right there." Dean took his arm off his eyes and squinted at Sam. The mid-afternoon sunlight was too bright for him to glare properly. "Why do you want me to eat so much all of a sudden? You weren't so approving last night."

"I just think you need to eat what Cas gives you. Support this new...hobby." Sam sounded a little uncomfortable, and he stared straight ahead instead of making eye contact with him. "Otherwise, he might take off again, and we might need him while he's gone, this time."

"I'm just not sure how I feel about that," Dean muttered, glaring down at his bloated stomach. "Especially if..._this _keeps happening." He gestured.

"Stop whining," Sam said with a slight smile, rolling his wrist to dig the heel of his hand in - gently, of course. Dean gritted his teeth so hard the roots creaked in his gums, trying not to moan in pure pleasure. "It can't be that bad."

"It is! I can barely even sit up straight, it _hurts - "_

"Not when I'm doing this, though, right?" Sam glanced at him, smirking slightly but looking incredibly embarrassed. There was something in his expression, too, something tentative, and, if Dean hadn't known better, he'd've assumed that it was blatant _wanting._ Love, sexual attraction. But it made no sense for his baby brother to feel that way about him. "You like this...don't you? You've gotta be enjoying the whole thing at least a little."

That shut Dean up, because he didn't want to admit that he _was _enjoying it. That he liked the feeling, to a certain extent, and that Sam's hand on his belly was absolutely amazing. Not to mention the fact that he'd been fully erect since he started eating that morning, and he was beginning to suspect that being so full was what turned him on. Which was just weird, and not something he wanted to share with Sam.

When they reached their motel, Castiel was waiting, with enough pasta and garlic bread to feed a small army. Other than making a joke about him being on an Italian kick, Dean didn't object to dinner. Even though Castiel's matter-of-fact encouragement and Sam's coaxing meant that pretty much everything that the angel had brought ended up inside of him, stretching his stomach out into a near-perfect globe, making his skin so taut it stung along his sides despite Castiel's spell, and (much to his embarrassment) made him take off his jeans because he was honestly afraid the denim would tear. In his boxers, he felt almost completely exposed, but, thankfully, both Sam and Cas seemed way more interested in the temporary gut he was sporting than anything below it.

"...oh, man." There hadn't been a table in their room, or any chairs, so Dean had opted to sit cross-legged on the bed he'd claimed as his, until the position got uncomfortable. He was kneeling now, both hands on his stomach, examining himself with what he hoped came across as fascinated horror. "I hate both of you."

Sam and Castiel, standing on opposite sides of the bed, ignored him. Castiel bent his head forward slightly, speaking to Sam in a low voice.

"There _is _more," he began. "Dessert - "

"I'm not sure that's such a great idea right now," Sam murmured back. "I mean...just look at him."

"I'm right here, y'know," Dean snapped, shifting his weight slightly and feeling the mattress creak under him. "I can hear everything you're saying."

"I'll be back in the morning," Castiel said quietly, not addressing either Sam or Dean specifically, then vanished.

"Wait, no, Cas, don't - son of a bitch!" Dean clutched his swollen belly and hunched over, squeezing his eyes shut as all the pain he should have been feeling the whole time came flooding back. "Asshole!" he snarled at the empty air where Castiel had been a couple seconds ago. "Why can't you use a spell that helps me even when you're not freaking here?!"

"Shh. Calm down. If you get all worked up, you'll make it hurt worse." Sam stepped out of his boots and sat down on the bed next to him, reaching up to rub soothingly between his shoulder blades. Dean thought about shrugging his hand off, because he'd never done this before and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it. But he didn't. "C'mon, Dean, let's take care of you. I'll make you feel better."

Even though he really didn't like that gentle, condescending tone, he let himself be guided into a laying position, head propped up on a pile of motel pillows and both of Sam's hands on his stomach. As full and exhausted as he was, he was asleep in minutes. So he didn't see Sam, hesitantly, plant a tender kiss on his belly, then curl up next to him, looking troubled and contented at the same time.

* * *

"Here. I thought you might be hungry."

"You're not even halfway through that, Dean. Don't tell me you're full."

"They're...cheeseburgers, Sam called them. Two dozen. He said you had a fondness for them, so I made what I assumed would be enough to sate you."

"Yeah, you've put on some weight. It's not that big of a deal. Listen, are you absolutely sure you can't eat any more? I mean, Cas left a pie the last time he was here..."

"Dean? Yes, I am aware of what time it is...I apologize if I woke you. Sam told me you would not object to this sort of thing so long as I came bearing gifts...and, as you can probably tell, I learned how to make ice cream earlier this evening."

"I fell asleep rubbing your belly. That's the only reason you woke up with me wrapped around you! Now, please, just drop it. And finish those eggs, you'll be starving later if you don't."

"It's easier if I feed you. You said yourself that it's become painful to lean forward, with your stomach so full. If my presence makes you uncomfortable, Sam could - well, then, stop yelling at me and eat what I'm offering."

"I picked up some new jeans for you while I was out. The ones you have are getting...kinda tight."

"Not that tight," Dean muttered, reaching down to tug at the waistband of his jeans. As long as he hadn't been eating, he could still get this pair buttoned. Though his softening stomach made a shelf over the top, and so did the padding that had appeared directly above his hips after weeks of copious amounts of Castiel's cooking. "I mean...they still fit. Don't they?"

Sam, sitting across from him at a table in a diner in Minnesota, gave him a dubious look. "They'll rip if you bend over too far."

"Oh, come on, I haven't gained that much weight." Dean nursed his coffee, which Sam had ordered for him because he'd been in the bathroom, scowling at his newly-developed little potbelly in the mirror. It tasted like it was entirely sugar and cream. "It's just a couple extra pounds. I don't need new jeans."

"It's closer to twenty, actually," Sam murmured. "Maybe thirty. Just judging from that belly you're trying to hide." He gestured to Dean's loose, entirely-zipped jacket. Dean scowled.

"Fine. Let's go with that. I put on thirty freaking pounds in the last three weeks, and I can barely button my jeans and my thighs almost touch when I walk, because you and Cas have been stuffing me to the brim every single chance you get." He leaned forward, glancing off towards the kitchen, where the cook was undoubtedly making the breakfast Sam had ordered. "Speaking of that, why the hell'd you order anything for me? Cas'll be by in one, two hours tops, and I'll end up eating all of whatever he brings whether I want to or not."

Sam chewed on the inside of his lip for a couple seconds, unable to meet Dean's furious gaze, and then quietly said, "I just don't want you to get hungry."

"Really? That's your excuse?" Dean asked, disbelieving. He flopped back against the green vinyl of the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. Don't tell me. I don't really care. All I know is I'm getting fat and I haven't hunted or had sex or gone to a bar in about a month because you guys keep me so damn full all the time."

Castiel didn't just show up at regular mealtimes anymore. He popped in at all hours of the day, bringing rich snacks in addition to all the usual food, feeding a confused, slightly-scared Dean until he felt like he was going to burst. Sam encouraged that enthusiastically, pointing out that Dean loved to eat and he'd already said how good Cas's cooking was and how much they were saving on food. Except that they weren't, not really, because Sam was shoving junk food at him, too, whenever Castiel wasn't. He didn't stand a chance; no wonder his ass felt like a pillow and his belly spilled over his jeans and his chest was way more padded than it should be, all of a sudden. Every day, they got him to eat a little more, filled his stomach a little fuller. Cas hand-fed him on a basis that was way too often for his liking, Sam rubbed his belly once he honestly couldn't eat another bite. They were tag-teaming, and Dean hated it. Mostly because he didn't understand.

And he was sick of being horny all the time without the smallest outlet. They barely left him alone, and he was pretty sure that it was starting to fry his brain or something, because he didn't just want sex, he wanted sex with _Cas._ And Sam. Especially Sam. With his long legs and his huge hands and his silky hair and...oh, God.

That was...he didn't even have a word for what that was.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, well, I'll eat what you give me." Dean fell silent as the waitress approached and set several plates on the table. He didn't really feel like discussing problems within what was, basically, the nuclear unit of his family in front of a normal human. Partly because those problems were pretty weird, partly because that unit contained a rebelling angel of the Lord and a ridiculously-empathetic human-demon hybrid. He continued after shaking off a sudden "why-is-this-my-life" moment. "And you know why, Sam? Because I don't feel satisfied unless I'm so full it _hurts."_

Sam bit his lip and turned away, and Dean assumed he was embarrassed. He ate, noticing that the food was pretty good even through the fact that he was still pissed.

Things didn't actually come to a head until several hours after noon, when Sam pulled the Impala off the road and into the parking lot of a convenience store. Dean, who had been dozing in the passenger seat and had digested enough from Cas's latest visit to be at least sort of comfortable, opened his eyes with a slight grunt.

"We out of gas?"

"Uh, no, I just...thought you might be hungry," Sam replied quietly, not looking at him. "Figured we should pull off and get something."

Dean stared at him for a second, before angrily snapping, "I'm not hungry."

"Well, you should eat something any - "

"No! I'm not going to!" He shook his head. "I have no idea what the hell kinda game you and Cas are playing with me, making me eat and eat and eat, but I'm not gonna just sit here and gorge myself anymore. Not until you tell me what's going on, because I am so frickin' tired of not knowing." He shrugged, the movement jerky and furious. "Don't get me wrong. I love the food, it's fantastic, and I love the bell rubs, even though it's so damn weird to have you touching me like that. But I'm not taking another bite until I know _why."_

"I..." Sam hesitated. He raked a hand back through his hair, chewing on his lower lip. Dean waited, tapping his fingertips impatiently on the center console. But his little brother didn't answer him. He just yanked open the door on his side and bolted. Dean swore.

"Sammy - " He opened his own door, swearing again as he clambered out, belly aching. Sam was striding rapidly to the edge of the parking lot, where scrubby grass met the asphalt and there was nothing else for miles in any direction. Panting hard, Dean caught up to him when he stopped abruptly, behind the store. "Okay...what the hell?"

"I can't do this," Sam muttered. Looking at his face, Dean could see that his eyes were tightly shut. "I know how you'll look at me if I tell you, and I - I can't handle that."

Dean felt all his anger drain away, at the heartbroken tone in Sam's voice. He put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed comfortingly. "Sammy, c'mon. It can't be that bad." Considering, he added, "You're not drinking demon blood again, are you?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "Oh, _God, _no."

"Then what?"

He hesitated. "It's...bad."

"Okay..." Dean made a "go-on" gesture.

"I...uh." He scratched, awkwardly, at the back of his head.

"C'mon, spit it out." Dean was actually starting to get a little scared. Sam glanced at him, looking so guilty it was almost comical. He swallowed, hard, and muttered, "I'm...attracted to you. Like, sexually." Looking at him fast, out of the corners of his eyes, he started talking, and the words just poured out while Dean stood and listened. It was like he was physically incapable of holding anything back once he got started. "I - I have been for as long as I can remember, just a little bit, I guess I thought it was normal, 'cause we were so close when we were little - but it's gotten worse lately." He started pacing, back and forth in a tiny line of about five feet, and Dean watched him as he nervously grabbed onto the back of his neck with one hand and used the other to gesture jerkily while he talked. "I can't keep my hands off you when you're full, I always want you to eat more, and, like you said, you're getting fat from eating so much - and I love it more than anything, I know I shouldn't, but I do." He paused, tipping his head back and exhaling explosively as he slowly closed his eyes. "I _want _you. But I should have taken advantage of you like I did, Dean, I - I shouldn't _feel _like this. But, r-right now..." He paused for breath, looking tortured, and, hesitantly, reached out. Like he was going to touch Dean's stomach. But, instead, he lowered his hand, and hung his head. "I'm so sorry."

Dean wasn't quite sure how to feel. His first thought was that, well, he didn't mind being with men. He'd experimented a lot as a teenager, before discovering that gay sex wasn't really better or worse than straight for him, just different. And his cock was throbbing painfully in his pants, letting him know that part of him was so much more than okay with this. But Sam was his _brother _(and that was his second thought). His little brother, and he'd just admitted to something that should have made Dean want to pound him into the asphalt for playing hell with his body and generally being sick and twisted. Mostly, though, all he felt was an internal ache, knowing his Sammy was hurting so bad. And knowing how to fix it.

"And Cas?" he asked evenly, mostly just to buy himself time to think. "What about him?"

"He...I don't know. Maybe he knows I like it, he's definitely been helping me out enough." Sam looked miserable. "Maybe he likes it, too, I have no idea - he only has, like, one facial expression." He shook his head, turning away, and stayed quiet for a long time. So did Dean. Finally, Sam broke the silence by snapping over his shoulder, "C'mon, yell at me! Call me a monster for wanting to screw my own brother! Hit me or - or something, but don't just _stand _there!"

"Turn around, Sam."

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, eyes shut as tight as they'd go and hands clenched into fists at his sides. Just waiting for a blow. But Dean didn't hit him - instead, he took a step forward, grabbed either side of his head, and pulled him down into as intense of a kiss as he could manage.

Sam went perfectly rigid for a second, as Dean opened his mouth slightly and teased at his lips with his tongue. Then he relaxed, all but melting into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Dean and holding him as close as he could with a slight moan. Dean's belly, still full and swollen from lunch, pressed hard against Sam's own flat stomach, and the pain from that nearly made him cry out. But that pain, somehow, felt good. He could feel Sam's erection pressing against him, could feel him getting more and more excited even as he tried to be gentle. He kept his hands above his waist, stroking his hair, gripping his side. Gasping into the kiss, he tightened his grip for a second - then pulled back, face flushed and eyes wide as he panted.

"D-Dean - " he started shakily.

"What?" Dean snapped, annoyed at having been interrupted. He'd made up his mind, and he wanted to act on his decision. "Look, sorry I can't get closer to you, there's just...some stuff in the way." He patted his belly, quirking a wry, seductive smile. Sam swallowed.

"Are you really, _really _sure that...this is what you want?" He shook his head. "You're not doing this just to make me happy, are you?"

He snorted. "Of course I'm not doing it just to make you happy...though, admittedly, that's a bonus. It's just, now that I know you're hot for me..." He gripped his shoulders and walked him backwards. "...I can finally tell you that being this full turns me on like you wouldn't even believe." When Sam's back hit the wall of the convenience store, he pressed himself up against him, nudging with his hips. So his stomach bounced against his, not hard enough to hurt either of them but hard enough to make Sam twitch and shake in response. "Every single time Cas feeds me, I'm hard as a rock." Putting his mouth next to his younger brother's ear, he breathed, "It's been driving me nuts." Sam made a hungry, desperate noise in the back of his throat, and grabbed his ass, bucking the sharp ridges of his hips right into Dean's belly. He grunted, more surprised than hurt. "Whoa, there."

"Sensitive?" Sam whispered, a smile in his voice.

"You should know. You've been taking care of this belly for about three weeks now, just watching me grow," Dean purred back. He knew exactly what to say; it'd been running around in the very back of his mind for weeks. Sam squeezed his soft, rounded ass appreciatively. "And you've been doing a great job. Go ahead, touch all you like, I could really do with some appreciation...I've been feeling so...neglected."

"Dean, I...oh, God, you'll be lucky if I can keep my hands off of you for five minutes, now that we're - " He didn't finish his sentence, just started planting hot, hungry kisses on his mouth and cheeks and throat, rapidly, apparently aching for contact. He dropped to his knees, running his mouth down Dean's chest and still kissing through the fabric of his shirt, until he reached his stomach. Nudging his shirt up and his pants down, he sighed happily, before laying a soft, reverent kiss on Dean's distended belly. "You're still so _full. _I can't believe how big you're getting."

"Not half as big as I'll be tonight, when you and Cas feed me more than I've ever had before," Dean said gently, looking down at him. Sam turned his face up, hazel eyes blissful.

"Excuse me?" He grinned incredulously as he asked the question.

"I want you both cramming food in my mouth." Dean reached down, and pulled him up, planting on a quick kiss on his lips. "And touching me, all over. Telling me what a good boy I am, calling me your guys' perfect little glutton, making me _beg."_ He started to lead him back to the car. "Force-feed me, refuse to use Cas's little spell until I've eaten a certain amount...jerk me off while I'm eating. Just make sure I'm stuffed to bursting, 'cause...we're celebrating." He nuzzled into Sam's long hair. "By then, I won't be any state to make decisions, so you and Cas are just gonna have to do whatever you want with me." He grinned. "Would you like that, Sammy? Me totally helpless and at your disposal?"

"Oh - yeah, definitely...oh, my _God." _ Sam ran a hand through his hair, smiling like an idiot with relief and excitement as they reached the car. "I - Dean, I can't believe you _like _this...you like me..." He stopped abruptly, glancing at him. "What about...uh...sex?"

"As much as you want, so long as it's rough and you feed me beforehand." Dean smiled at him, totally confident that he'd made the right decision, and ducked into the passenger seat with a grunt of effort.

"And it really doesn't bother you that we're - "

"Brothers?" Dean's smile widened as Sam got in, and he leaned across the center console to kiss him with a predatory passion he didn't think he'd ever felt before. "Sammy...that's the best part."


End file.
